


In the Land of the Dream-Witch

by Rikudera



Category: Kingdom Hearts, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Bittersweet, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kitsune, M/M, Revenge, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2134584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikudera/pseuds/Rikudera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years ago, when animals spoke with humans and magic could be found if you knew where to look, a monk of the keyblade and a little red fox fell in love. Whether their love can be, only the Dream-Witch knows.</p><p>Based on Sandman's <em>The Dream Hunters</em> By Neil Gaiman and Yoshitaka Amano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Land of the Dream-Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Made for Akuroku Day 2014. Finished just in time.

Many years ago, when animals spoke with humans and magic could be found if you knew where to look, there lived a humble monk. The monk’s name was Roxas, and he resided in a small temple dedicated to Kingdom Hearts some distance from the city of Twilight, beyond the woods and high in the mountains. His life was simple and chaste, his dedication a pure honesty that is seen but rarely. He said daily prayers to Kingdom Hearts, he kept the temple and garden neat, he spoke wisely with the rare few who visited, and when the need arose, he took keyblade in hand and kept the darkness from coming down the mountain and into the city. He was content with this solitude.

In the woods and mountain around which Roxas lived, there also resided a number of animal spirits. One in particular was a little red fox, and he was quite mischievous, as he liked to play tricks for his own amusement, both on other animals and on the humans in the nearby city. He was so adept at this, in fact, that he eventually became bored for lack of a challenge.

“What am I to do?” the fox lamented to his friend the raccoon-dog.

“If you are bored, let us play a trick on one of the humans in the city,” the raccoon-dog suggested. “It is always great fun, is it not?”

“Humans are too easy to trick,” the fox groused. “It may be fun for a while, but I shall only be bored once it is done, as usual.” He laid down with his head pillowed on top of his paws, his tail twitching in frustration.

“Ah, I should like to disguise myself as a lovely human girl,” the raccoon-dog sighed. She transformed herself into a beautiful woman, pale of face and raven of hair, her kimono a deep blue with an exquisite design of aster flowers. “I will find a wealthy man, and he will buy me expensive things to win my affections. When he is completely smitten, I will reveal the truth, and he will be very embarrassed.”

“That is a plan you would surely succeed with,” the fox said, "but wealthy men are even easier to fool than regular men. It is the virtuous or poor man that is the true challenge.” Then, a truly mischievous thought occurred to him. “Say, is there not a monk of the keyblade that lives on this mountain? I will play a trick on him.” He lifted his head from his paws and began to walk in the direction of the temple.

“Now, that is going too far,” the raccoon-dog scolded, shedding her disguise and tailing after her friend. “I have met that monk before, and he is very kind."

“It will be a harmless prank, I assure you,” the fox grinned.

“You are naughty, indeed,” the raccoon-dog said. “This will not end well for you. I cannot watch.” With that, she turned and left, and the fox walked alone through the forest to the temple.

The fox arrived, but hid in a bush and did not disguise himself just yet. First, he must observe this monk to see where the best angle of attack would lie.

Roxas was currently sweeping the stones around the temple. How handsome he was! How graceful and unassuming were his movements! How the afternoon sunlight shone on him! How serene were his delicate features!

“I will seduce him,” the fox said to himself as he retreated to his burrow, and that evening, he returned to the temple to do exactly that. He took the guise of a simple salesman, a handsome yet unassuming traveler, once on his way to the city but instead beset by ruffians and robbed of his wares. As he enchanted some leaves to serve as the remains of his backpack, he could think of nothing but the way the monk had swept the stones earlier that day. So caught up was he in this, he did not notice that his hair was still the same rich red as his fur.

“Help! Is anyone there?” the fox called when he arrived back at the temple. “Please help me!” The monk ran out of the temple in a flash, his keyblade drawn and gleaming in the moonlight. When he saw his visitor was alone, however, he put it away and approached more casually.

“Why do you call for help, sir?” the monk asked. “Why are your clothes ragged and your pack empty?”

“I have been beset by vandals,” the fox answered, looking the monk soulfully in the eyes. “I was on my way to sell my wares in the city, but it grew dark before I reached my destination and they attacked me unawares. Now, everything I own has been taken from me. I will go to the city and seek justice for the crime in the morning, but tonight, I must seek shelter. Won’t you give a simple fellow some shelter for the night in his time of need? I cannot repay you until my justice is claimed, but I can tell you a story of my travels or sing you a song.”

“It is not often that this temple sees visitors,” the monk responded, expression warm, “but I will do what I can to help you in your time of need. Do not worry about recompense.” He smiled, which only made him more handsome to the fox. “But if you wish to tell me a story of your travels, I would not object. Please, come inside. I will get you something to eat.”

“You are truly a kind man, sir monk,” the fox responded, returning the monk’s smile. “Thank you ever so much.” He followed Roxas inside to the hearth, setting his empty pack down and continuing to talk as Roxas prepared him a bowl of rice from his own dinner. “The places I have seen, the stories I have heard… you would hardly believe it if I told you, but I guarantee, you will find it enthralling!”

“I am sure that whatever tale you choose to tell,” the monk responded, “it will certainly be well-told.”

“I cannot thank you enough for your kindness,” the fox repeated, once they were done with the meal. “Thank you for the meal; it was delicious.” He smiled at the monk as they cleaned up together. “Now, you will permit me to share a story with you, yes?”

“You are welcome, sir,” the monk answered, in good humor. “As I said before, I am happy to help you without repayment,” the fox’s face almost fell, “but I would be most delighted to hear a story.”

“Please, call me Axel,” the fox grinned wider as he sat down by the fire.

“Very well. I am Roxas.” The monk soon sat down beside him, and thus it was that Axel the fox began weaving a story.

It was a grand tale, with many enthralling characters and circumstances, and Axel had a different voice and pantomime for every conceivable facet of it. There were pining lovers, daring battles, and a noble in disguise. Axel built up the suspense as he went, gaining momentum and enrapturing Roxas with each new twist, and when he finally reached the thrilling, beautiful ending, Roxas sighed as only a person who truly loves a story is able to sigh.

“I am not sure how much of that was true,” Roxas finally said, “but it was exquisite. I have not heard anything like it in a very long time.”

“Some of it was true,” Axel admitted, regarding privately how exquisite Roxas himself was in the firelight.

“But which parts were the true ones?” Roxas asked.

“Not knowing is what makes it a good story,” Axel replied easily.

“I was worried, when I first saw you,” Roxas said, sighing again, “but the company has been refreshing.”

“I, too, have enjoyed your company,” Axel said, moving closer. “Let us save the worries for tomorrow.”

“After all,” Roxas continued, “it is not every day one spends an evening with a fox.” Axel stopped short, and in the light of the fire, his form flickered back to that of a fox.

“How did you know?”

“Your hair is red like a fox’s fur,” Roxas said, amused.

“Is it?” Axel asked, changing back to his human form. “I am usually much better at remembering that sort of thing when dealing with humans.”

“And I thought it best to have you stay so you would not exercise your mischievousness on a person less observant than I,” Roxas added. “I did not expect the evening to be this pleasant.” He paused for a moment. “Your eyes are green like a fox’s eyes, too.” He paused again, frowning. “You should leave, or I must scold you again.”

“Please let me stay,” Axel said, moving closer once more. “I will stop playing tricks on humans.” He touched a hand to Roxas’s cheek, and watched Roxas’s eyelashes flutter before opening again. “Your eyes are blue, like the sky in summer, and I cannot bear the oncoming autumn without seeing them a little while longer.”

“You are trying to tempt me,” Roxas accused, though he did not move his face away. “What a badly-behaved creature you are, little fox, when you know what my service demands.”

“You should call me Axel,” the fox said. “Are you truly too virtuous a man to be tempted by the likes of me?”

“On the contrary,” Roxas whispered. “I want very much to give in.”

“Then do so,” Axel said, bringing his face close.

“It is not that simple,” Roxas said.

“Yes, it is.” And Axel kissed him. It seemed to last for an age and a day, but it was over all too soon.

“I cannot,” Roxas said, pulling away. “You must leave.”

“I know you want me to stay,” Axel said.

“And yet I cannot let you,” Roxas replied, standing up and moving away. Axel sighed and changed back into a fox.

“Do not forget me, Roxas,” the fox said, and with that, he left the temple and stole away into the forest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"It is a bad idea for you to have come back," Roxas said, when the fox appeared at the temple the next day as he was tending his garden.

"I am glad you remembered me," the fox replied, walking between the rows of vegetables to where the monk was. "I will heed your scolding and behave myself," he sniffed at a plant but quickly lost interest, "but I should like to spend more time here and keep you company."

"I do not think I could forget you if I tried," Roxas commented wryly, "but I do not think I want to, either." He went back to work on his garden. "In any case, you may visit me if you like. Perhaps even you may find the light of Kingdom Hearts here." He stole a glance at Axel and was pleasantly surprised to discover that foxes could wear miffed expressions.

"You are teasing me," the fox said. "You and your vegetables."

"I am entirely sincere," Roxas smiled.

"I will defend this garden for you by catching myself a suspiciously fat rabbit," the fox said.

"Come back," Roxas called, laughing, as Axel began to sulk away.

"I will come back," the fox replied, swishing his tail imperiously, "but first, I will catch a rabbit." And the next day, he returned to the temple, grinning and presenting a rabbit's paw to the monk.

"Hello, little fox," Roxas said, accepting the paw with impressive grace. "I see your temper is red like your fur, too." And so the rest of the summer passed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One day, just before the cusp of autumn swept in, the fox arrived at the temple to find the monk in a strange sleep. Sleep did not only hold Roxas, it hung over him like a cloud, trapped him in a way the fox smelled as deeply unnatural. The fox tried all the magics he knew to rouse Roxas, but finding them unsuccessful, he consulted his friend the raccoon-dog for help.

“You must seek the help of one more powerful,” the raccoon-dog said, “for I cannot wake him, either.” The fox again tried to wake Roxas, and the raccoon-dog looked on, contemplative. “If he is a monk, perhaps we can pray to the Princess of Thorns for help. I will watch this man while you find a suitable offering.”

“I will speak with the herbalist who lives on the edge of the human city,” the fox declared, “and I will not rest until I have saved this monk.”

“Anyone but him!” the raccoon-dog pled. “He is an evil man. You should look for a sign from the Princess instead.”

“He was a good man once,” the fox said, “and I will do what I must. I cannot delay.” He bid goodbye to his friend – not without some sorrow – and again took the form of a traveler as he left for the city.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Upon entering the city, the fox sensed that a strange aura had settled upon the humans as well, one not of sleep but of darkness. It was faint, nigh-undetectable for those not sensitive to magic, but the fox felt the chill sharply. He quickened his pace, trying to catch the origin of the scent as he walked, but to no avail.

Was it due to Roxas’s incapacitation at the mountain shrine? Or was there something more sinister transpiring that affected humans and spirits alike? The encroaching darkness only made the fox more resolute to save Roxas and return things to how they once were. Stealing through the city, the fox came to the house of the herbalist he had once known.

“You should not have come here,” the herbalist said, when the fox arrived at his house. He was a reclusive man, feared by many for the large scar on his face and his sharp demeanor, but if one was in need of help of a more discreet or even controversial nature, no questions save those regarding purse-strings would be asked. “What mischief do you seek this time?”

“The monk that tends the temple on the mountain has fallen into an enchanted sleep,” the fox responded. “Darkness encroaches upon the land, but he cannot defend against it. I must save him.”

“The human world and its affairs are best kept away from a troublemaker such as yourself,” the herbalist insisted coldly. “Leave, and do not test my patience.”

“You were my friend once,” the fox said. “Help me save this man, and I will not trouble you again.”

“And you are a fool with such a transparent love for a man that can never be,” the herbalist answered. “Such sentiment has changed you for the worse. Leave the protection of this city to the men within it, and they will do what is necessary.” The fox smiled, though it was not out of kindness.

“If you understand what is necessary,” the fox said, “perhaps we can remain friends after all. The men in this city have never raised a keyblade against dark spirits, and if they claim otherwise, I shall burn their houses to the ground. If you have ever known me, you will know that I will not stop until I save the man I love.”

“Your temper remains the same as always,” the herbalist said, pinching the bridge of his nose, right at the center of the scar on his face. “Why should I help you?”

“If you believe me honest in anything,” the fox said, “believe me in this. I swear upon my life that I only seek to save Roxas. If a man in this city professes to fight the darkness as the monk does, that man is lying to you. I will do what I must to succeed.”

“You will regret making that vow,” the herbalist warned.

“No,” the fox replied. And with that, the herbalist began concocting a charm.

“What is this piece of cloth?” the fox asked, once the charm was complete. It was a plain, gray strip of cloth, and while the fox felt it held power within, he could not tell its purpose.

“If the monk is lost in dreams,” the herbalist said, “then you must seek to help him in the Dreamland itself. Go to sleep tonight with that cloth. It will assist you if find yourself in danger with things spiraling out of your control.”

“But how will I help Roxas in the Land of Dreams?” the fox pressed.

“You will have seven days until the enchantment upon him is irreversible,” the herbalist declared. “That is all I can say.”

“Do you know who brought this darkness upon us?”

“Do not concern yourself with more than is necessary.” The herbalist turned away, back to his tools. “The path you have chosen is already difficult enough.”

“…Take care to not be fooled yourself,” the fox said, then left the house of the herbalist and the city.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The fox returned to the mountainside temple, thanked his friend the raccoon-dog for her vigil in his absence, and told her of his plans to save the monk in the Land of Dreams.

“But you only have a blank cloth,” the raccoon-dog said. “That evil man has lied to you.”

“I do not believe he is wholly innocent,” the fox admitted, “but he is gifted in his craft, and I am determined to succeed.”

“I can feel the darkness growing,” the raccoon-dog said. “I will try to fight the parts of it I can, but I will only be able to hold out for so long. Who will protect this land if not the monk and his keyblade?” While the fox was gazing down at the sleeping monk’s face, the raccoon-dog had her glare trained in the direction of the city.

“We have seven days to rectify this,” the fox said. He nuzzled at Roxas’s face, but the monk slept on. “I will save him. I must.”

“For the sake of this land,” the raccoon-dog said, “I hope you do.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, the fox curled up next to the monk, the strip of gray cloth folded under his head, and he went to sleep. He wandered the Lands of Dreaming for what seemed like an age, but could find no sign of Roxas. The strip of cloth he now carried in his mouth remained gray and mysterious.

Had he been betrayed, after all? Would the darkness in the waking world continue to grow until it overtook all? Would he never see Roxas wake? What was he going to do?

“Why do you wander the Dreaming Lands?” a voice called to the fox. He turned to find the source of the voice and was met with the sight of another fox, this one much larger, her fur pure white, her tails moving as if writing invisible calligraphy, and her eyes like two stars. Though he did not think he had ever seen her before, he knew her immediately as the creator of dreams.

“I seek to wake a monk of the keyblade, Lady of Dreams,” the little red fox said. “He is put under an enchantment, but I cannot save the man I love from the encroaching darkness until I find him and wake him.”

“Love between a fox and a human is difficult,” the Dream-Witch warned. “These kinds of things do not often end well.”

“All the same, I will do whatever it takes to save him.” The red fox tried to gaze back stubbornly, but hung his head in frustration. “I have wandered this land, and I cannot find him.” When he did look back up, his gaze carried more endurance than it did brazenness. “I must save him,” he repeated.

“You do not see the larger balance that both you and the monk are a part of, and so I do not think your quest a wise idea,” said the Dream-Witch, “but if you will not be persuaded, perhaps you may learn a lesson or two in the process.” She pointed a paw at the cloth strip, and it changed from plain gray to jet-black, spells of binding and purification written in calligraphy in gleaming white. “The monk you seek is beset by a nightmare from a corrupted dream-eater. I would also see that creature freed from its torment, and if you are victorious in that, you may be able to wake the monk as well.”

“I will do it,” the little red fox said, bowing.

“The next night you sleep, I will not prevent you from encountering them.” And so the white fox departed, her tails swishing like brushes behind her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The fox awoke the next morning with bolstered confidence, and though Roxas still slept, Axel felt he would soon be victorious. He showed his friend the raccoon-dog the calligraphy the Dream-Witch had written into the cloth and spoke of how things would soon be as they were before.

“I am not as sure,” the raccoon-dog said, twitching her tail unhappily. “I saw that man in the city today, meeting with one of the government mages.”

“And what of it?” the fox asked. “It is not unusual that he would be familiar with other men of science and magic.” His tone was casual, but deliberately so, and he declined to mention the herbalist's unpopularity among the well-to-do. “Perhaps they are friends. It is none of our business what the humans do in the city.”

“I could smell a darkness on him,” the raccoon-dog insisted. “There is an evil around that mage.”

“When I save Roxas,” the fox said, his eyes trained on the sleeping monk as before, “the darkness will linger on this land no more.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The second night, the fox traveled back to the Land of Dreams and found the dream-eater that was corrupted with nightmares. And aura of darkness hung over the dream-eater, and it thrashed its leathery wings as if trying to shake it off, flying in jagged patterns even as it chased after the running figure of a man. The fox ran swiftly towards the other two, and when he recognized the running man as the monk Roxas, he shouted aloud.

“I am here! Roxas!” Axel yelled, first as a fox, then in his human form, then again as the fox. Roxas did not turn, nor did he seem to notice Axel at all; he, too, was running in nonsensical patterns, his footsteps tracing a mazelike path only he and the dream-eater could see. “Please, wake up!” It was fruitless.

Axel decided to take action. He lept upon the back of the dream eater, claws-first and teeth snarling, but he was too small to bring it to the ground. The dream-eater thrashed again, and its back lit up with dark, esoteric symbols. The fox was thrown off in a burst of black energy.

“I will not give up,” the fox said, and lept again, sinking his sharp teeth into the neck of the dream-eater. The beast screamed, pulled the fox off with even sharper claws, and drove a chill into Axel’s bones, terrible and biting.

The fox woke with a start, the third morning’s sun already risen, his fur more crimson than before, wet with blood and stinking of darkness.

“I have spied upon the mage,” the raccoon-dog said, as the fox licked his wound clean. “He commands dark spirits and casts spells of binding on I know not what.”

“I cannot stop,” the fox said, spitting out the ichor that had been in his wound. He looked back at his friend and saw that she, too, was injured. “You are the one who should not be meddling.”

“I fight what the monk cannot in his absence,” the raccoon-dog said, “and I have tracked the dark spirits to their source.” Her gaze was sharp indeed. “Your love for the human has blinded you to the scale involved in this situation. The forces at work are too strong for you.”

“Then I will not be strong,” the fox replied. “I will be clever.” He chose not to speak to the raccoon-dog for the remainder of the day, instead concocting a plan for victory against the dream-eater. The fire of determination was ever-present in his eyes, even as they closed in sleep that night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The fox found the monk and the dream-eater again the third night, but this time, when he set upon the nightmare creature, it was with a focused purpose. He took the strip of cloth the herbalist had given him, the same one the Dream-Witch had written on, and threw it over the eyes of the dream-eater. He jumped off the dream-eater’s back and waited to see what the words of binding would do.

The creature’s movements slowed as the darkness surrounding it dissipated, the esoteric symbols shifting to match the Dream-Witch’s calligraphy. It stopped moving forward altogether, and was pacified.

Roxas halted, too.

“Who is there?” he called.

“I have come to save you,” the fox answered. “I defeated the dream-eater troubling you, and now it can no longer see into your dreams to torment you.”

“Who are you?” the monk asked.

“I am Axel,” the fox said. The monk did not respond. “The fox who has kept you company at your temple.” He moved closer, shifting into his human form. “You gave me shelter, and listened to my story.”

“I have no recollection of you,” Roxas said. “I must attend my temple. Goodbye, sir fox.” He began walking away.

“Come back, please,” Axel said. The monk continued walking. Axel shifted back into his fox form and tried to follow, but his running steps brought him no closer. “Roxas...” he said, quieter.

“I thank you for freeing me,” the dream-eater said, then, “but the enchantment is not fully broken, and the price cannot go unpaid. Someone must dream this nightmare.” The fox looked at him. “If the monk is to wake, another must sleep and take his place. That is what the mistress of this land says.”

“Then I will sleep,” the fox said, both to the dream-eater and the Dream-Witch he knew was listening. The dream-eater nodded. Axel stared at Roxas’s retreating form until it was too small to see.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roxas woke on the fourth day to the sight of a small red fox curled up next to him.

“And how did you get here, little fox?” he asked. He attempted to rouse the creature, but to no avail. “How strange.” Though he could not recall ever meeting a creature like that before, the sight of it pulled at him fiercely. “Why do I feel like we have already met?” Roxas’s head pounded. “Perhaps I have seen you in a dream, though I fear if I did, it may have been a dark dream.” For the monk perceived a dark presence upon the land.

Roxas did not know how to wake this curious interloper, nor where the darkness was coming from, so being a monk, he prayed for some insight. He prayed to the light of Kingdom Hearts, he prayed to the Masters of old, and he prayed to the Princess of the Seashore, for her hair was red like the fox’s fur. Being a monk of Kingdom Hearts, he also took his keyblade into his hand and sought out the source of the darkness in the mountains.

It was not long before Roxas came upon a dark spirit attempting to head towards the temple. A raccoon-dog was battling it with all her strength, but her haggard appearance suggested she had been engaging in battle for too long, and she was losing badly. Roxas sprang into action, and with his keyblade, he finished the demon off. But he was not swift enough to save the raccoon-dog.

“You must defeat the source of the darkness, Roxas,” the raccoon-dog said. The monk gathered her into his arms.

“Where is the darkness coming from?” Roxas asked, though he could not recall meeting this creature, either.

“That evil man will not rest until he has won the power he seeks,” the raccoon-dog said. She pressed a seashell into his hand. “This is my treasure. May it help you.” Thus, she succumbed to her wounds and expired.

“Thank you for your help,” Roxas said. He murmured a prayer for her and returned to his temple.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The woman waiting for Roxas at the temple was the Princess of the Seashore. The monk bowed and placed the seashell in her hand.

“It is kind of you to help creatures you know you cannot recognize,” the Princess Kairi said. “Your kindness is what has kept this land safe until now.”

“I must save the fox”, Roxas answered. “ I do not know why, but I must.”

“Will you not seek the source of the darkness?” Kairi asked. “The fox sleeps of his own will.”

“Something is wrong,” Roxas said. “I cannot rest until I discover the source of this.”

“A mage in the city casts dark spells for power,” the Princess replied. “Creatures like the raccoon-dog cannot defeat him fighting alone. Will you not wait until the darkness is dispelled before seeking to wake the fox?”

“...It is difficult to wait,” Roxas answered, after a brief silence.

“Yes,” Kairi agreed. “But even you would have been defeated had the mage come after you alone. He will not gain the power he seeks until he is victorious. The fox sleeps to save you from the darkness.”

“I cannot let him suffer in my place,” the monk said. “I must save him.”

“ Then you must seek out the Dream-Witch,” Kairi said, “for it is she who allowed the fox to sleep in your place.”

“I will do it,” Roxas said. And when he went to sleep that night, he focused all his effort on that task.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first, Roxas was not sure his dreams had taken him to the right place. He was walking down an endless road, the land around him a vast expanse of grassy hills. No matter how far he seemed to walk, the land never changed. The only measure of time was the sun in the sky, the pale pink of morning giving way to the blue of midday, then again to the reds and oranges of sundown.

“I cannot have traveled only a day,” Roxas said to himself, “for it feels like an age has passed. It is dusk already. How am I to get help saving the fox if I cannot find the Dream-Witch to ask her?”

“I am not going lose again!” a voice squawked suddenly from the other side of the latest hillock. Roxas started at such an oddly-timed intrusion, then picked up his pace.

“Do you want to stop?” another voice asked.

“Of course not!” the first voice said.

Roxas cleared the hill to find himself approaching a crossroads, the center of which was occupied by a white duck and a black dog playing a card game.

“Best out of seven hundred and forty-three!” the duck declared, gathering the strangely-pointed cards to set up another game.

“If you say so,” the dog answered good-naturedly.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Roxas said.

“Hello, sir monk,” the dog replied. “Would you like to play a game with us?”

“Trying to avoid your defeat?” the duck accused. Roxas shook his head, though he could not help but smile as he did so.

“I cannot play with you,” Roxas said, “but I was hoping you could tell me which road I should take to find the Dream-Witch.” The two animals looked at each other silently, then back at Roxas.

“All these roads are the Dream-Witch’s,” the duck said.

“I suppose it depends on what kind of Dream-Witch you want to meet,” the dog said.

“There is a fox who I must save,” Roxas explained, “and I must speak with the Dream-Witch in order to save him.”

“Foxes are mischievous, horrid creatures,” the duck said. “Why would a monk want to save him?”

“I like foxes,” the dog said, smiling, though his companion ignored that comment.

“There must be a reason, even if it is archaically baffling,” the duck pressed, staring critically at Roxas. “It is part of your teachings?”

“...He is dear to me,” Roxas replied, hanging his head in sorrow for the little red fox.

“Is that part of your teachings, too?” the dog asked. The image of Axel’s human form rose in Roxas’s mind, and Roxas wondered how he ever could have forgotten it. The tall man with hair red like a fox's fur, his eyes bright green in the firelight, how he had kissed Roxas, and how Roxas knew he could not give in but wanted to anyway.

“...I cannot let him suffer for my sake,” Roxas said, and to his credit, he did not flush.

“You'll want to go that way, then,” the dog said. When Roxas looked back up, both the duck and the dog were pointing down one of the paths. “You might not get there until tomorrow, though.”

“I understand,” Roxas said. “Thank you for your help.” He bowed, then began to walk down the indicated path, leaving the duck and dog to their card-game argument. As he traveled on, the sun set behind the grassy hills, and then rose again.

On the morning of the fifth day, Roxas arrived at an enormous, bronze-colored castle. When he pushed the tall front door open and walked inside, a third voice called to him.

“Who enters the palace of the Witch of the Dreamland,” the voice demanded, “She Whose Brush Paints the Canvas of Imagination, the White Wave that Approaches and Recedes from the Shores of Reality yet without which the Shore would have no meaning?”

“It is merely a humble monk of the keyblade,” Roxas responded, “who seeks to speak with the Witch of Dreams regarding a certain fox.” A figure melted out of the shadows in the corner of the foyer, revealing himself to be a youth in strangely-styled garments, a deep maroon on his breast and arms, the rest a blue so new-moon-dark it was almost black. His hair and the sashes around his waist were paper-gray, as if someone had forgotten to color him in fully, and his eyes were two ocean-colored glass orbs.

“My mistress has been expecting you,” the doll-youth said. “Follow me.” He walked to the door at the other end of the foyer, his ball-jointed limbs turning strangely with each step. Roxas followed. “Do not stray, or you will become lost.”

“What would happen if I were to become lost?” Roxas asked. The walls of the castle’s interior rooms were white, now, and an endless multitude of scenes shimmered across them.

“You would wander this place forever and a day,” the doll-youth said, looking over his shoulder at Roxas as they walked down an equal multitude of twists and turns down the corridors. “Dreams can be persuasive, these ones close to the center even more so, and even a monk may find it hard to resist temptation.” His eyes gleamed, from amusement as much as being made of glass.

“And how long does is take if one goes not get lost?” Roxas asked.

“Merely a day,” the doll-youth said, smirking.

“Much like yesterday, then,” Roxas commented, “but more pleasant for having company. What shall we speak of as we travel?”

“I could give you a tour of the parts of my mistress’s castle that we will see,” the doll-youth suggested, turning his face away again.

“That is acceptable,” Roxas said, then pointed to one of the shimmering scenes on the walls. “What is depicted here?” As they walked, he continued with many more questions.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When they entered the throne room, the Witch of the Dreaming was waiting for them with a subtle smile, her eyes shining like stars.

"...but the entire thing only appears as such every other Wednesday," the doll-youth said, as the very long day finally ended. "The only rule overriding that one is that on the thirteenth of each month, everything is made out of ice cream and tropical fish habitats.”

"Stop teasing the poor man," the Dream-Witch said to him. “Come here and behave yourself.” The doll-youth scowled but did as he was told, perching himself on the arm of the throne. "Hello, Roxas," she said now to the monk. "I have been expecting you."

"Lady of Dreams," Roxas answered, bowing. "I must speak with you about Axel." He looked back up at her, gaze emphatic. "I must save him."

"Did you know," the Dream-Witch said, "that the fox came to me saying much the same thing?" She rose from her seat, elaborately embroidered kimono trailing behind her, one moment ghostly white like the castle, the next golden as her long hair, the next vibrant as the setting sun. The monk regarded her warily, but relaxed a fraction when he saw her move towards an empty canvas hung on the wall. "He went through a great deal of trouble to ensure your safety."

"And that is why I cannot allow him to suffer in my place," Roxas answered.

"Is that the only reason?" the Dream-Witch asked. She took a brush her attendant the doll-youth had produced and began to paint. Although the ink was pure black while on the brush, when it touched the canvas, it shifted and turned every conceivable color imaginable, as well as colors the monk had never imagined until this moment.

"The darkness will not leave my land until this strange spell has been completed," Roxas added, "and it is my duty to defend it in whichever way I must, even at the cost of my own life."

"And?"

"Axel has grown wiser over the time I have known him," Roxas continued, "and I should like him to have the opportunity to continue his more benevolent attitude towards others." He paused. "...Save the rabbits, I suppose."

"And?" the Dream-Witch asked again, still painting.

"...And I confess I have grown fond of him," Roxas admitted quietly.

"The fox admitted that more easily than you," the Dream-Witch said, lifting her final stroke from the canvas in the same way that a wave which recedes from the shore knows it will return before long. The monk did not recognize the figure in the painting, but he looked somehow like an old friend from his youth. "But you are right to want to return events to as they should be." She handed her brush back to the doll-youth, who melted into the shadows and disappeared. "Let us speak with Axel."

She conjured a white flowerbud, and it bloomed as she held it in her hand. Within, Roxas could see a little red fox, curled and sleeping. With a motion of her other hand, the fox rose out of the blossom and woke, standing in the throne room with his two observers.

"You should not be here," the fox said, when he saw Roxas, shifting into his human form and frowning deeply.

"This is a burden I must bear," Roxas replied, "and it would not be right to cause you pain in my stead."

"I chose this willingly," Axel insisted. "I am saving you! You can return to your temple and need not worry about the darkness any longer, for it will be gone by tomorrow morning."

"It is because of you that I have made up my mind," Roxas said, and he smiled sadly when he saw Axel's distraught expression. "Things will be as they should. I willingly do what I must because of the regard you have shown me." Axel protested no further. Then, Roxas turned to the Dream-Witch. "May we have time to say goodbye?” She nodded, and allowed them to say their goodbyes inside the flower.

Perhaps they spoke their goodbyes respectfully and admiringly, as warriors who had each worked in his own way to combat the darkness. Perhaps they stood side by side, as two who had  become friends while the summer sun was overhead. Or perhaps they did what it is that lovers do.

As she returned to her painting, this time with a brighter, more secret brush, the Dream-Witch contemplated all that had happened. Perhaps  a lesson had been learned, after all. With the enchantment soon to be complete, the human city would  return to an equilibrium. It was not a certainty that the darkness present  in the city would vanish entirely, for men who gain power are not often willing to give it back,  but the nightmares given and nightmares eaten away would be in balance again. And the mountainside temple would be needing a new monk of the keyblade before long.

When the monk and the fox had finished their goodbyes, the Dream-Witch pulled the fox from the flower and back to the throne room.

“Though it pains me more than I can bear to leave you,” the fox said, “I will not let your sacrifice go unanswered. I will find the evil mage who casted this enchantment, and he will answer for his deeds.”

“Do not let anger burn too hotly in your heart,” said the monk. “Instead, seek the light of Kingdom Hearts. I will not forget you.” After those words, the Dream-Witch closed the petals of the flower and returned the bud to the aether. Axel shifted back into his natural form, but even as a fox, he could not keep himself from weeping.

“Despair not for Roxas,” the Dream-Witch said. “His heart will go where it is meant to.” With not an insignificant amount of effort, the fox collected himself.

“Will I ever see him again?” the fox asked.

“These things are hard to tell,” the Dream-Witch answered, “even I do not know what Destiny holds.”  She regarded the fox for a moment. “Will you follow the advice Roxas gave you and seek Kingdom Hearts?”

“Yes,” the fox replied, “but first, I will seek revenge.” He bowed one last time to the Dream-Witch, and then, with a flick of his red tail, turned and left for the waking world.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As soon as the fox woke, he began heading towards the city. The mountain was devoid of dark spirits once more. The raccoon-dog was gone, as well. In honor of his friend the raccoon-dog, Axel transformed himself into a young woman wearing an exquisite blue kimono with an aster-flower design, but he left his hair red for Roxas.

The monk was buried in a little graveyard next to the temple, like his predecessors before him, and a new monk was appointed to watch over the temple and the mountainside. Axel did not care to look to see if his eyes were blue like the summer sky.

Setting to work, the fox moved into a house just north of the city that he knew would not be contested. It had once been comfortable, but some years back, it had burned to the ground and was now abandoned. Axel used the glamours he knew to rebuild the house as well as casting a charm to make it appear as if the young woman had always lived there. Preparations complete, he began to carry out his plan and entered the city proper.

Axel could not detect a darkness hovering over a particular place in the city any longer, but he knew it was not wholly gone. The red-haired woman sought the divination services of a certain mage, inquiring of prosperous days in the coming season.

“On the thirteenth, you must head north,” the mage said. “If you do this, you will have good fortune the rest of the month.” As a fortuneteller and spirit-wrangler, this mage was skilled, and had been for many years. Silver of hair and rich with women and luxuries, he carried himself in a distinguished manner, his sharp, golden gaze never ceasing in his pursuit of knowledge and power.  He was talented in his art, even moreso recently than he had been a mere week ago, but he was still a man, and being a man, susceptible to the charms of a fox.

“Then I am doubly fourtunate,” Axel replied, “that it is the same direction in which my house resides.” She thanked him and paid for his services with coins so old they were nearly featureless.

“But on the fifth of the month,” the mage added, just as the woman was about to leave, “you should head south.”

“Why, if I am not mistaken,” she said, looking back at him for a moment before she left the room, “that would take me back here.”

“Yes,” the mage agreed. The woman smiled, then left before he could say any more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After the woman’s second visit, the mage could not contain himself. He composed a poem comparing the red-haired woman’s beauty to the pull of the moon on a cool and refreshing midnight lake. Four days later, the fox sent him an answer, and the responding poem spoke of the ripples and tides in the lake making the moon’s reflection beat like a heart. The mage became resolved in his pursuit of the mysterious beauty.

On the evening of the thirteenth, he appeared at her door.

“I was instructed to walk north as well,” the mage told the woman, when they were seated in her house.

“Then stay and join me for dinner,” the woman said graciously. “For I am happy to shelter you, and it is lonely without company.” They dined together, and the fox’s glamours ensured he enjoyed the meal. “It pains me to think what could have happened if you had gone east instead, for there is only a burned-out shell of a house in that direction, and only mice and darkness to keep it company.”

“We should keep closer company,” the mage said, when they were done with the meal. “For the darkness can fill a man’s room,” he moved close to her, “even a man’s heart,” his hand was on her arm, “but a beautiful and engaging woman moves the heart better still.”

“It is the wine that moves you,” the woman replied, slipping out of his grasp quick as a fox, “for I know you cannot mean what you say.” Her eyes were distraught. “You are toying with my affections. You must leave.”

“I speak the truth!” the mage insisted, the magic brushing against him like a red-furred tail. “You have been in my thoughts every morning and evening since we first met.”

“But I know you are wealthy enough to have both a wife and a concubine,” the woman said. “I will give my favors to you once or twice, and then you will tire of me and return to your family.” Tears threatened to spill. “If you truly loved me, you would only seek to stay the night when you are freed from other women.”

“I will leave them,” the mage answered, enraptured by her vehemence. “They are nothing to me compared to you.”

“And your house is so beautiful,” the woman was disconsolate. “I live in a fine house of my own, but it is squalor compared to your mansion of riches! You would stay only a week here before going back to your old lifestyle. If you truly loved me, you must stay here with me always.”

“My house will be no more,” the mage answered, golden eyes gleaming. “It can burn to the ground, for all I care of it.”

“Even if that is so,” the woman said, clutching her hands to her heart, “all my feminine talents and beauty will never compare to the spells and spirits you command as a great mage! How can I be first in your heart when you deal with forces beyond my comprehension, enchantments that you can punish me with at a whim if I displease you?” The tears fell from her green eyes. “No, I would turn ordinary and petty in your eyes if you still had your sorcerer’s tools. You would burn those too, if you sought to stay with me for more than a season.”

“They will all burn,” the mage answered, with the certainty of a man that knew darkness could reside deep within the heart, if only one killed a pure-hearted person such as a common monk in the appropriate manner. “Weep no more, my love.”

“Goodnight,” the red-haired woman said, and the mage soon found himself outside her house once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A fog, or perhaps a madness, descended upon the mage. Some said it was because his house had burned to the ground, his entire family trapped within. Others said it was because an unwelcome divination had compelled him to take all the tools of his trade outside the city to be thrown away. One man claimed it was the magic of a fox, but he was scarred and bitter, and thus ignored by the greater populace.

The red-haired woman stepped outside her house that day to find the mage standing triumphantly before her, the cart with all his magical tools and scrolls dumped in a heap on the ground.

“I have returned,” the mage declared, eyes bright and terrifying. “My house is burned, my women are burned, and now, my sorcerer’s tools will burn, too.” He doused the pile with oil and lit it on fire. The flames shone reflected in Axel’s own eyes, and the higher the heap burned, the wider Axel smiled. “Now, I have nothing except you.”

The mage did not think the woman could be more pleased than before, but she was.

“Then remove your robe and let me see you as you are,” the woman said. The mage acquiesced, and that, too, went into the fire. “Let me come closer to you.”

“Feast yourself,” the mage entreated, throwing his arms wide. The red-haired woman moved very close to him, then.

“I will,” Axel said. A fox’s teeth are very sharp, and even eyes golden with darkness are still the mere eyes of a man. A howl of rage and despair was heard in the city, then, so frightening and terrible that nearly a quarter of the people within rushed to buy charms warding off demons and evil spirits. It was agreed upon that the malice upon the city was the work of evil spirits, for no one ever saw a fox there ever again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Some days later, the monk new to the temple encountered a dark spirit in the mountains. It was a dreadful creature, screaming at everything and nothing, clawing at its bloody face and chest in its wrathful agony, but the monk took his keyblade and dispatched it with ease. So was the world a better place.

That night, after he had returned to his temple and eaten his simple evening meal in solitude, the monk had a very strange dream. In that dream, he was laying on the bank of a river, the little river fish nipping pleasantly, if a bit ticklish, at his feet submerged in the water. The sun was bright overhead, and someone he couldn’t see was singing about the sound of the ocean at daybreak.

“What a nostalgic song,” the monk said to himself, “though I am pretty sure it is a river.” Another voice spoke, then, but it was too far away for the monk to understand the words. The monk sat up and looked around to see who it was, reminding himself to apologize to the fish later. No one was near him.

But if he looked past the other bank of the river, far into the distance where the sun was already setting, he thought he might have seen two figures walking together, speaking only as one could speak with someone very close to one’s heart. It may have been a monk, much like himself, with a little red fox trotting beside him. Or perhaps it was two men speaking as they traveled for realms unknown. It was too far to tell.

“Though I suppose you would know,” the monk said, “wouldn’t you, Dream-Witch?” He laughed and lay back down in the soft grass.


End file.
